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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29365626">Night And Day</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiskyBiznu/pseuds/RiskyBiznu'>RiskyBiznu</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Banter, Drabble, Fluff, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 05:00:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,669</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29365626</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiskyBiznu/pseuds/RiskyBiznu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fed up with the drudgery of Imperial politics and seeking a little excitement, Martin's taken to sneaking around in his old priest garb with a certain friend-of-a-friend that has no idea he's the Emperor. He gets the feeling Lucien is hiding something, too... But surely it can't be bad enough to ruin this thing they've got going. Or can it?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lucien Lachance/Martin Septim</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Night And Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The Jerall View Inn is bustling by the time the sun has begun to set. As Martin watches a few civilians walk inside ahead of him, all of them shivering from this last cold snap of the season, he seriously doubts there’ll be a spare table for himself and Lucien. He trots inside regardless.</p><p>He has to wait for a drink or two to be mixed and poured before the owner, Hafid, is free to talk to him at the bar. “Welcome to the Jerall View. What can I do for you?”</p><p>“I’m here to see Lucien.”</p><p>“Lucien who? We’ve got a good amount of people in here tonight.”</p><p>“I… actually don’t know his last name. But he’s an Imperial fellow, a smidge taller than myself, with long black hair in a ponytail.”</p><p>“Oh, him! I’ve seen mourners with more colorful outfits than his. You must be the Martin fellow he was talking about.”</p><p>“That’s me. Is he here right now?”</p><p>“You’ve just missed him. He came by about an hour ago. Gave me this.” Hafid reaches under the bar and pulls out a wax-stamped envelope. <em>‘For Martin’ </em>is written above the seal in a very neat, no-nonsense print, but the item is otherwise unremarkable.</p><p>Martin takes the letter with a polite “thank you” and steps back out into the wind of Bruma.</p><p>This is some high-quality stationery, he thinks idly, slicing open the top of the letter with his meager pocketknife. He finds the same neat handwriting inside. </p><p>
  <em>My lovebird,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I apologize, but I would prefer to meet you someplace further from prying eyes and eavesdroppers.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>So much so, in fact, I chose this method in case there were any such individuals at our last meeting. Hopefully, you understand.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If you’re reading this in Bruma, I’m not very far. West of the city is a quiet, empty cottage with a quaint little garden beside it. Find me there.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>With trust and love,<br/>Lucien</em>
</p><p>It’s so uncomfortably chilly here in Bruma, and yet Martin has to take a moment to fan his face at the letter. It’s perfectly lukewarm compared to all the debauchery he’d seen as a cultist, sure, but it’s been far too long since there was <em>any</em> sense of romantic mystery in his life. He’s a bit surprised that Lucien started the letter with an apology, actually. He makes a beeline for his stabled horse and heads west.</p><p>In the last few rays of the sunset, he finds a glossy jet-black mare grazing in an unkempt garden outside an otherwise unremarkable farmhouse, and figures it must be Lucien’s; even the saddle is entirely devoid of color. Martin stations his own mount right beside her, the stout frame of the building thankfully shielding them both from the evening breeze. He gives a few loving rubs to each broad snout, takes a heavy blanket from the back of the saddle to drape over his horse’s back, and then knocks on the weathered wood of the front door. “Lucien?”</p><p>There’s footsteps, and then a rattle of metal to suggest the doorway has at least two locks to it. The door creaks open shortly after. Lucien is positively beaming as he peeks out. “Did you bring any wine?”</p><p>“I, um… No. Sorry. You didn’t tell me to.” With that, Martin looks a little deflated.</p><p>Lucien steps away from behind the door to reveal a full bottle in his hand. “That’s good, because I should have plenty here already.”</p><p>Martin can’t help the giggle that comes out of him as he slips into the farmhouse.</p><p>Lucien shuts and locks the door behind them both. “I’m pleased you could make it. Again, I apologize for the roundabout way I invited you. I’ve picked up a certain affection for secrecy in my line of work. It’s a difficult habit to shake.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t apologize.” Martin has already taken a seat at the dining table that Lucien’s set up with wine glasses, fresh bread, and shiny red apples. There’s even a few roses in the little glass vase behind the dishes— the first of the season. “I found it a bit thrilling, to be perfectly honest.”</p><p>“Did you, now?” Lucien pulls out a chair for himself and moves it so close to Martin’s that they bump into each other as he sits down.</p><p>“It’s just that my life has been so<em> plain</em> lately.” Again with the lying by omission. His life was certainly exciting during the Oblivion crisis, of course, and it was briefly exciting to become Emperor, but before and after that it’s<em> definitely</em> been very plain. “I can’t remember the last time I snuck around in the dark like this.”</p><p>“Fortunately for you, lovebird, I consider myself to be an <em>expert </em>at sneaking around in the dark.” Lucien almost regrets the double entendre. He pours out two modest glasses of wine and hands one to Martin, and their hands linger for a moment as they brush past each other.</p><p>“You do seem to be that type.”</p><p>“I’ll take that as a compliment.”</p><p>“I meant it as one. I…” Martin considers what he might be about to say, and whether he should say it at all, but what’s a little backstory between friends? “I’d spent a good part of my youth in that type of company.”</p><p>“Now, you <em>don’t </em>seem to be that type.”</p><p>“You think so? And here I thought I could hardly pass for a priest.”</p><p>“You’re closer to a priest than a… What exactly <em>were</em> you, anyway?”</p><p>Martin takes his first drink of Lucien’s wine, and he instantly recognizes it as a favorite of some of his former fellow cultists. “Well… let me start by saying that I’m not proud of it.”</p><p>“Go on.” Lucien can’t help leaning in a little closer.</p><p>“And that I was young and foolish.”</p><p>That gets a polite, understanding nod.</p><p>Martin sets down his wine, frowns, sighs, and finally stands up to get a little more room to maneuver. “And I need you to <em>promise </em>me you aren’t going to laugh.”</p><p>“Cross my heart. You won’t hear so much as a chuckle out of me.”</p><p>Martin fumbles with the laces at the neck of his tunic, and after one last pause to steel his nerves, he pulls it down far past his shoulder to reveal an incredibly ornate black-and-red tattoo of a rose blossom on the left-hand side of his chest. The whole piece is about the size of a spread hand and it looks like it must have <em>hurt.</em></p><p><em>“Sanguine?!”</em> Lucien bursts out laughing.</p><p>Martin turns beet-red and yanks his tunic right back up, cinching the laces tight. “You said you wouldn’t laugh!”</p><p>“I’m sorry!” Lucien has to hold his own mouth shut to calm himself down. “I’m so sorry, lovebird, I know I promised, but— you could have warned me.” He breathes deeply to push away the last bit of snickering. “It’s a lovely tattoo, though, I must say.”</p><p>It takes all his strength not to just hide his face in his hands, but Martin’s tone is still a sheepish mumble. “Thanks, I guess.” He sits down and takes up his wine glass again.</p><p>“But, you? Sanguine? <em>Really?”</em></p><p>“I have a hard time believing it, too. It’s tough to remember at times.”</p><p>“With what I’ve heard about how heavily Sanguine’s followers can drink… I’m surprised that you remember it at all.” Lucien has an amusingly smug look.</p><p>“I can certainly remember <em>enough.</em> But the reason I brought it up is because, well, as I was saying, I’m not new to sneaking around and keeping secrets.” He glances at the bread on the table, but suddenly he doesn’t have much of an appetite. Heart-stopping embarrassment like this isn’t exactly kind on the stomach, after all.</p><p>“Are you inviting me to keep being secretive with you, or to be more honest?”</p><p>“Hm. Either one is nice, come to think of it.”</p><p>Lucien feigns like he’s torn about it for a second or two. “I’d like to go with the former, then, if you wouldn’t mind.”</p><p>“That’s understandable.” Martin looks away and back again. “I haven’t told you my whole life story yet, so I can’t exactly expect you to do so, either.”</p><p>“Are you saying there’s still <em>more </em>blackmail material that you’re keeping from me?”</p><p>“Blackmail? Lucien, surely you wouldn’t—”</p><p>“I kid, I kid.” Lucien still has that smirk on his face.</p><p>Martin sighs again and wills himself to lighten up and relax. “I’ll tell you plenty more in due time, don’t worry. But I think I’ve divulged enough for one evening.” With his wine glass now empty, he helps himself to a refill. “And I don’t think you brought enough wine to loosen me up for more secret-spilling, either. But it does taste nice.”</p><p>“Does it? I’m flattered that a Sanguine cultist enjoys my choice of wine.”</p><p>“Oh, stop it. I don’t do <em>any </em>of that anymore. Priesthood demands perfect moderation, I’ll have you know.”</p><p>“Yes, but I feel as though you’re enough of a heavyweight to have a slightly <em>abnormal</em> definition of ‘moderation’. You’re clearly drinking this much faster than I am.”</p><p>“What are you implying?”</p><p>“Hm. Several things, actually.”</p><p>“After the way you invited me here, I was expecting a little more subtlety in your proposition than <em>that.”</em></p><p>It’s Lucien’s turn to get flustered, and he buys himself time by taking a long drink of the much-discussed wine. “…I blame your sudden confession of Daedra worship. It threw me off.”</p><p>“That’s no excuse. I would like to be <em>properly seduced,</em> thank you, not just given a few offhand remarks and raised eyebrows.”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure someone like you is <em>very </em>discerning.”</p><p>“And what’s <em>that</em> supposed to mean?”</p><p>“It means I don’t think you even need to be seduced.”</p><p>“Maybe not, but I said I’d <em>like</em> to.”</p><p>“Have I already lost my chance to attempt that?”</p><p>“I don’t know, have you?”</p><p>“I sincerely hope not.” Lucien reaches to the back of the table, nearly grazing his sleeve against the bread basket, then plucks a blood-red rose from the flower vase. He grins and gently places the stem in his teeth. He winks at Martin, looking very proud of himself.</p><p>Martin sets down his glass again— empty for the second or third time— and takes a good look at Lucien’s display. “On second thought…” He leans in close, mirroring Lucien’s self-satisfied expression. “I think I’ve waited long enough.”</p><p>Lucien politely opens his mouth and lets Martin pluck the rose from it. His grin remains. “I’m inclined to agree.”</p><p>The flower is tossed aside. They’re close enough that they’ve both braced one arm each on the edge of the dinner table. Martin slides a hand over Lucien’s, and with the other he tugs at the black silk ribbon that holds his ponytail. The hair falls loose and glossy over his wandering touch. “If you have any terrible secrets of your own that would ruin this moment… Keep them to yourself.”</p><p>“Of course, lovebird. Anything for you.”</p><p>Martin’s lips just barely brush against Lucien’s. “Anything?” His voice is as delicate as his touch. “I’ll hold you to your word.”</p><p>“Just hold me.”</p><p>Lucien feels— and kisses— a lot softer than Martin had been expecting. It’s a gentle, chaste thing, and at the very moment he can tell Lucien’s getting into it, Martin cuts it off.</p><p>Lucien huffs. “Now you’re <em>toying</em> with me, you cold-hearted cultist.”</p><p>“Oh, it must be terrible to anticipate something and then have it delayed.”</p><p>“I thought you said you weren’t upset about the letter at the inn.”</p><p>“I’m not, but I don’t want you getting any <em>more</em> ideas of the sort.”</p><p>“So you need me around <em>that</em> desperately, hm?”</p><p>“It’s been a while since I’ve had this particular sort of company.”</p><p>“I’ve lost count of the months and years, myself.” As he thinks about it, Lucien toys with a curl of Martin’s hair. It’s all too clean and perfumed for him to be a simple holy man like he says. “I know you’re not just a priest, Martin.”</p><p>“But do you know anything beyond that?”</p><p>“I know as much about you as you do about me… which is next to nothing.”</p><p>Martin smiles. “I do know you’re <em>very </em>pleasant to be around, at least.”</p><p>Lucien pauses for just a moment. “I want to be good to you— take you to exciting places, buy you nice things.” He’s avoiding eye contact. “But I worry you wouldn’t <em>let</em> me if you knew anything more about me than that.”</p><p>Martin shakes his head. “But if I told you who I am, you wouldn’t think I deserved any such generosity.”</p><p>“Hm. I sincerely doubt that.”</p><p>“Then…” Martin gives a little sigh. “are we even?”</p><p>“In what sense?”</p><p>“I’d tell you everything if you did the same.”</p><p>“That’s certainly tempting…” Lucien chews his lip in thought, or at least a pretense of it. “Even if it would ruin this moment.”</p><p>“In the morning, then. You can pretend to be whoever you’d like for tonight, but come tomorrow morning I’ll want the <em>truth, </em>pure and simple.”</p><p>“The truth is rarely pure and never simple.”</p><p>“Then give me the ugly, complicated truth.”</p><p>“Tomorrow. I’ll come clean tomorrow.”</p><p>“And in the meantime…?”</p><p>Lucien smiles. “In the meantime I’ll be absolutely <em>devious.”</em></p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Morning comes all too soon. The farmhouse’s curtains are threadbare and do little to keep out the harsh light of the newly risen sun.</p><p>A bright, sharp sunbeam creeps up Martin’s face until he’s blinking and squinting, trying to remember where he is, half-covered by a blanket that wasn’t even warm enough to begin with. He idly shifts around, half awake, nuzzling his face into his thin pillow.</p><p>In a sleepy haze, the previous evening slowly comes back to him. Ah… Lucien is a man of mystery no more, at least in one sense. He did have an unusual amount of scars, though. Probably from some rough-and-tumble younger years not too unlike his own, Martin wonders. Perhaps even recent or, gods forbid, <em>current</em> years. But that’s a mystery for another day. He rolls over.</p><p>And he’s met with a completely empty bed, save for a solitary letter upon Lucien’s pillow, folded up and politely addressed <em>‘For Martin’</em>.</p><p>That wakes him up. He scrambles upright, yanking the bedsheets up over his lower half, and snatches up the letter. Damn him if he didn’t get exactly what he asked for. He was so coy and playful about all the sneaking around, and now he’s been hit with the next logical step. Delightful. And the worst part is that Lucien’s handwriting is still perfect, almost mockingly so. How did he write so neatly with barely any sunlight?</p><p>
  <em>Lovebird,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>My nerves got the better of me. I couldn’t stay.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>You jested about being secretive, but ultimately, you deserve an honest man.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I can’t be one.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>If you must know exactly why— another letter waits under your pillow.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I would stay innocent if I were you.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Regretfully,<br/>Lucien</em>
</p><p>And to think it was all going so smoothly.</p><p>But as he rereads the letter thrice over to make sure this isn’t some terrible dream, that line about innocence bugs him more and more. He’d love to stay completely in the dark about Lucien, and whatever skeletons that man has in his closet— especially if they’re literal. It would surely be much easier to just make up some fanciful lore about Lucien being a wandering adventurer, or a treasure-hunter, or an exiled prince, or something else he could romanticize and daydream about when he goes back to his empty chambers in the Imperial Palace.</p><p>But he’s in too deep. He’s the Emperor, by Akatosh, not the Sanguine cultist who’s fine with fleeting affairs, nor is he the miserable priest from Kvatch who wouldn’t know self-confidence if it hit him in the face. And as Emperor, he hereby orders that he shall no longer tolerate secrets of any kind. He finds that second paper and unfolds it.</p><p>There’s his honest answer, plain as day—</p><p>One black handprint.</p><p> </p>
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